Invitation to a Closet
by audrey hepcat
Summary: "As far as the fish tank called Sunnydale High was concerned, Xander was an algae-sucking bottom feeder, and Cordelia, in all her terrible beauty, was a tiger shark, sleek, aggressive, and susceptible to fits of unprovoked rage." A collection of short stories examining the relationship between Xander Harris and Cordelia Chase before, during, and after BtVS and AtS.
1. You Give Me Fever

**Title: **Invitation to a Closet

**Author:** audrey hepcat

**Rating: **On the whole, this fic is rated PG-13; however, some chapters will contain more mature content (sex, language, violence, etc.) and, as such, be labeled as R or NC-17.

**Pairing:** Xander/Cordelia

**Summary:** "As far as the fish tank called Sunnydale High was concerned, Xander was an algae-sucking bottom feeder, and Cordelia, in all her terrible beauty, was a tiger shark, sleek, aggressive, and susceptible to fits of unprovoked rage." A collection of short stories examining the relationship between Xander Harris and Cordelia Chase before, during, and after_ BtVS_ and _AtS_.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_-related. I only wish I did.

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**You Give Me Fever **(set after _BtVS_, S2E02)

* * *

Xander Harris wasn't just a cretin; he was King of the Cretins. And he wasn't just a loser; he was the most hideous breed of loser humanly imaginable. He was a social bottom-feeding, fashionably anorexic alpha-nerd the likes of which Sunnydale High had never seen before and would probably never see again. _Ever._ That's how big of a doofus he was. And yet, for some truly inexplicable, unfathomable, just plain crazy with a capital K reason, Cordelia Chase could _not_ stop thinking about him! The way he walked, the way he talked, the way she wanted to run her fingers through his poorly-conditioned hair and bite his bottom lip till both their teeth turned pink.

"Oh, my God!" Cordelia squirmed between the crisp, clean sheets of her mahogany four-poster as images of Xander Harris and his cocky, crooked grin danced against the innerside of a darkened eyelid. This _could_ not, _should_ not, _would_ not happen to her. No way. Nuh-uh. It went against all things holy and fashionable, and she wouldn't allow it! She was Cordelia Chase, after all, and Chases had no time for plebeian scum, even if said scum _did_ have freakishly adorable puppy dog eyes and a sense of dumb-luck heroics that made her go all wobbly in the knees. Because in the end, knees could be replaced, but dignity? Dignity was like trust, hard to gain and impossible to win back.

Cordelia got up from bed. She stripped off her pajamas. She took a shower so icy cold, she nearly became a Cordypop. She brushed her hair for twenty straight minutes while scream-singing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" at the top of her voice. And when she crawled back into bed and snuggled down under the duvet, Xander Harris was _still _staring at her!

"Whhhhhy?!"

Cordelia threw back the sheets and flung her bedroom door open with enough gusto to crack plaster. (_What-ever_. If Daddy could afford to buy his new mistress an even newer BMW, then he could afford to have Juan Pablo smear some PolyFiller on the walls.) She ran down the stairs faster than her feet could carry her and went straight to the kitchen sink. She poured herself a tall glass of water, gulped it down. The feverish feeling was still there, so she tried another. And another. Nothing was working. Maybe she should just pluck out her eyeballs with a fork and rinse _them_ in the next glass! Or maybe she should channel her inner Queen C and forget all about Xander what's-his-name and the way he saved her from a starring role in _Bride of Frankendarryl_. All she had to do was think unsexy thoughts, and everything would be butter.

"Okay, unsexy thoughts. Unsexy thoughts…"

_—Her head an umbrella of corkscrew gnarls after that dumb nightmare spell._

_—Mommy Dearest and the Persian pool boy boning on the neighbor's swing set._

_—Principal Synder in a sheer, lace teddy with his mouth smeared red. _

Eww! And yuck! And more eww! The Xander Fever was breaking, and it was breaking fast. There was a God…

Cordelia grinned the fierce grin of a woman possessed as she dumped the water firmly into the sink, turned, marched back to her room, shut the door tight, and went back to bed. She closed her eyes.

"_Do you mind? We're talking here."_

Xander's voice gushed from the walls, and Cordelia's legs began to giggle beneath the covers. She could feel the higher parts of her brain close up shop as a wave of pure, animalistic lust pierced its way down her body. The way he'd talked to her tonight, all harsh and dismissive, was just so… hot?

_No_. No, no, no, no, no.

No way was Cordelia Chase, state championship cheerleader and trendsetter supreme, wetter than Willow Rosenberg at a software convention because Xander 'I think orange and blue are a good color combination' Harris had ignored her. Sure, he wasn't like the other high school boys, gagging to lick the dirt off her heels if it meant they could carry her books or 'accidentally' graze her boob in gym class. But then, he wasn't like the college boys, either. He didn't have a car, and he _definitely_ didn't have any cool. Hell, he probably didn't even have enough change in his piggy bank to take her out for Taco Bell! And yet, the simple, undeniable truth of the matter was that Xander Harris made her _feel_ things. Naughty, yummy, soft-core porny things. (Not that she was speaking from experience, mind you. Porn was majorly gross, and only losers whose social lives revolved around a bottle of Lubriderm and a box of Kleenex indulged in that freaksome brand of ick!)

Cordelia blew up at her bangs and clutched her pillow to her chest, trying desperately to bring her breathing back under control. Her heart was pumping battery acid, and the space between her legs felt like a flashlight, all pulsing and hot against the coolness of her sheets. She bit her glistening underlip as a hand began sleepwalking down her stomach and past the elastic waistband of her pajama shorts. It was right there, that punishing ache. Now, all she had to do was…

NO! Cordelia Chase did _not_ touch herself over boys who wore Bullwinkle boxer shorts and snorted Fun Dip off cafeteria trays.

She groaned at the ceiling. This whole situation was so deeply and personally unfair. After all, Xander Harris and his retina-melting dress sense had been a fixture in her life since freaking kindergarten, and up until today, she'd never even thought about tearing his clothes off and humping him unconscious. (Okay, so, maybe that first part was a lie. She had, in fact, fantasized about tearing his clothes off once or twice, but that was only because they set new standards for hideous! Sexing him stupid, on the other hand, was never even a blip on her radar.) I mean, sure, she sometimes planned her day around when she might 'accidentally' run into him on campus, but again, that had nothing to do with some sort of vile attraction. It's just, he was the only person in three zip codes who didn't want her as a friend or a fuck, the only person who could get under her skin as good as she got under his. He didn't put her up on a pedestal like some golden goddess, and he _definitely _didn't lap up her insults like the rest of the pathetic, three-legged puppies. If she called him a moron, he called her a harpy. If she made fun of his clothes, he made fun of her hair. That's the way it had always been. That is, until Buffy Summers came traipsing into town with her oh-so-special mission and dragged him into her demented little playgroup. Not that Buffy and her split ends were cool or anything ridiculous like that, but she did save the world on the regular. And now, Xander saved the world on the regular, too. And dammit, saving the world was hot.

That's right! It _was_ hot. Danger was sexy by definition, not Xander. There was nothing personal about these kinds of feelings; Cordelia would have felt them for Jonathan Levinson if he'd been the one to gurney-surf her to safety! Sooo, then maybe it wouldn't be all that icky to give in to the pleasure principle just this once? Stimulate the fear stimulus, and hopefully, the lust object would change.

Cordelia smacked her lips together and wiggled into a comfortable position. That sounded downright scientific. Logical. Detached. She let the hand resting against her naked thigh creep slowly up and under her shorts. It only took a few minutes of wild imagining before her limbs tensed and then went sluggish.

"Oh, _Xander_," she whined, her vision blurring from white to red. It felt so good getting him out of her system that she wasn't even embarrassed about yelling his name at the top of her breath. It would never happen again, after all, and even if it did, she'd die before acting on it for real! This weird, Hellmouth-y fascination with the class tweako was nothing more than a dirty, little secret, and with that in mind, Cordelia Chase was finally able to fall into a beautiful, dreamless sleep.

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**A/N:** Well, there you have it: the first chapter of what I hope will be an ongoing series. If you enjoyed reading this half as much as I enjoyed writing it, drop me a line. I love hearing from fellow _BtVS_ fans and am always open to suggestions about upcoming chapters. Plus, not gonna lie, reviews are one hell of a creative catalyst.

Until next time…


	2. Chases Never Say Die

**Chases Never Say Die** (set between_ BtVS_, S3E02 and S3E05)

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**Too Hot** /ˈtü hät/ n. **1. **A game where two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, s/he loses. The winner gets to do whatever s/he wants to the loser.

* * *

"I swear to God, dork, if you _ever_ give it to me that hard, I'll slap the shit out of you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia saw Xander flinch and cover his lap with a throw pillow. They were on top of her coverlet, their shoulders touching, but just barely. The house was empty, except for them, and the lights were turned down low. On the TV, a bottle-blonde bimbo with fake tits and raccoon eyes was getting slammed, quite literally, by some tool's tool. It was… _ridiculous_.

"Seriously," Cordelia huffed, blowing up at her bangs in irritation, "that looks like torture. And she's supposed to, what, just sit there and take it?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Cor, but she's standing."

"Do you value your life, Xander?"

"Um… yes?" he said, his voice rising with fear. She liked the sound of it.

"Right answer."

Not ten feet away, Raccoon Eyes and Gorilla Dick were fucking each other's brains out, the former shouting, "Give it to me!" on every third or fourth downstroke. Cordelia couldn't _think_ of anything less romantic. This wasn't a man and a woman; this was a penis and a vagina. And to think, people actually jerked off to this crap!

"This is unsexier than the wart hog pen at the zoo."

"What?"

"You heard me," she said, righteous indignation seeping from her every pore. "I mean, where's the romance? Where's the kissing? This doesn't look fun. This doesn't look like something _I_ want to do. Does this look like something _you_ want to do?"

Xander's cheeks went from white to pink in half a nanosecond. "No."

"Liar," Cordelia just about snorted. "This is_ so_ turning you on right now."

"No, it isn't!"

"Oh, yeah? Then, take that pillow off your lap." She tugged at the offending object, but Xander held fast. "You can't, can you?" When he didn't answer, she pinned him beneath a withering glare and said, "Look me in the eye and tell me this doesn't turn you on. Go ahead."

Xander cleared his throat. "This doesn't—Oh, who am I kidding? This totally turns me on."

"_Euuu_, gross! That's someone's daughter, you perv!"

"Not a perv," he clarified, pulling her flush against him, "an eighteen-year-old male. And besides,_ you're _someone's daughter. Doesn't stop me from wanting to do you."

"What—" Smack. "—a romantic—" Thwap. "—sentiment!" Cordelia huffed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against Xander's own gangly limbs.

For several long seconds, they struggled against each other, their feet tangling in the bed sheets, their breath coming fast and short. Then, Xander rolled them over, gave Cordelia all his weight, and pressed his mouth firmly against hers. True to form, she _harrumphed_ deep in her throat, the vibrations causing his lips—and other, more interesting body parts—to go all quivery. God, but she was making him _so_ hard.

"God, but you're _so_ hard."

Xander pulled back, then, his nose bumping against Cordelia's. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Shut up and kiss me, you jerk."

"If you say so," he said.

"Oh, I say so," she replied, trapping him between her heavy thighs and going for broke, her tongue—it should be_ illegal_ for a girl to have a tongue that long—very nearly wrapping around his tonsils.

After tenish minutes of hot and heavy kissing, Xander's hand found its way into Cordelia's underwear, and she made a falling, sighing sound, like a bird dropping from the sky. "Ngyegh!" she said, pushing against his chest with both hands, his mouth straining to stay near hers. If they kept this up, she'd be handing him her virginity on a silver platter in T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six—

"Shopping."

"Huh?"

"Shopping," she grunted into his mouth. "I want you to take me shopping."

"You mean, like, _now_?" he asked, sinking his index finger into her hot, wet, clenching, unclenching— "But we were just—"

"—watching porn!" Cordelia screeched, rolling them over with such force, they nearly toppled off the bed. Damn, but puberty had turned her into a lean, mean cock-blocking machine. "I mean, don't you want to finish the movie?"

For a moment, Xander was paralyzed into silence. The moment didn't last long. "Not if it means I'm over here—" He pointed to himself. "—and you're over there." Cue wild gesticulations.

"Xander, we've had this discussion before. There will_ be_ no sex before Homecoming."

His mouth turned down at the corners. "Not even a little sex?"

"Excuse you, Captain Jerkface," she said, nudging him with a stocking-clad foot, "but you're lucky I touch you at all."

She _did_ have a point. I mean, as far as the fish tank called Sunnydale High was concerned, Xander was an algae-sucking bottom feeder, and Cordelia, in all her terrible beauty, was a tiger shark, sleek, aggressive, and susceptible to fits of unprovoked rage. Needless to say, the fact that she'd ever even agreed to go out with him, let alone sucked him off about a gazillion and two times, was straight-up Ripley's. And to think, they'd wasted twelve-and-a-half years hurling abuse at one another. Not that they didn't still do that, but nowadays, they also hurled their bodies.

"Such a humanitarian, though," Xander joked, scooting down the bed until his head was in Cordelia's lap. She tried to pet him, but he was too quick for her, his teeth sinking into the soft belly of her arm. "Aim lower."

"_God_, pig much?"

"Oink, oink," he deadpanned, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and sandwiching their mouths together. The angle was awkward, but they were both too into it to care. "Seriously, Cor, just tell me what to do, and I'll do it. I'll do anything to make you feel good."

_Those_ words coming from _that_ mouth had her dying a hundred little deaths, her fists clenched, her body shaking with each new throb of blood. "Mmm. Sounds fun, but—" Another kiss, deeper this time. "—how 'bout we play a game first?"

"What kind of game?" he asked.

"A fun one," she replied, trailing Razzle Dazzle Rose up one cheek and down the other. "It's called Too Hot, and they play it at frat parties _all the time_."

Beneath her, Xander stilled, a cloud coming into his eyes. "Gee, thanks for reminding me that you used to—"

"What?" Cordelia demanded, tightening her hold on him. "That I used to kiss guys who aren't you? Oh, please, Xander! I had my first boy-girl orgasm in your bed. I think that's worth more than Hogan Martin's seven minutes in France."

"France?" he asked, dragging his nose across the outline of her underwear. She shivered and pushed him away.

"You know, with the kissing?"

"'Nuff said."

"That's what I thought." Reaching over, she twined long, perfectly manicured fingers through his hair and pulled, pulled, _pulled_ until he sat up. "So, Too Hot?"

"I know you are, but what am I?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes so dramatically, they almost got stuck on white. "I'm already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth." Before Xander could half-bake a retort, she fixed him with one of her patented death glares and said, "Now, shut up and listen to the rules."

"Yes, Mom. I mean, ma'am. I mean, Queen C." The smile on his face was downright nauseating.

"I don't know what your problem is," she said, "but I bet it's hard to pronounce."

Xander cleared his throat, then, and said, "Core-_deel_-ya," cold fingertips pressing into the space between her skirt and top. "Core rhymes with drawer, deel rhymes with peel, and ya rhymes with… ha!"

"Have I told you lately that I hate you?" There was a definite smile in Cordelia's voice.

"Sometimes, a guy likes to be reminded."

"Well, in that case," she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly, "I hate you."

"I hate you, too."

In a rare display of human emotion, Cordelia grabbed Xander by the ears and pulled him in for a kiss. Not a real kiss, mind you, but one of those Eskimo deals. It didn't last long, but there was a warmth there they hardly ever displayed in public, lest his friends or her minions realize they actually kind of—gasp—_liked each other_.

"So," Cordelia said, pulling back with the kind of eyes that predisposed you to agree with her every syllable, "here's how you play: kissing. That's pretty much it. You kiss and you kiss and you kiss, and you don't—I repeat, _do not_—make with the touchy-gropey. First person to cross the Mason-Dixon Line loses."

"And what do I get if I win?" Xander asked.

"Whatever you want." Heavy words, anvil-sized words, spoken slowly, flirtatiously. They _both_ knew what she was referring to. "And I won't even complain. Cross my heart."

"And if you win?"

"Hello, my Xander-shaped slave," she answered, smiling like the Machiavellian bitca she so obviously was. "So, whaddaya say?"

What did he say? To the prospect of a blowjob with no _yeucching_ or _ngyahhing_, no biting his hips with her fingernails or spitting into a Kleenex afterwards? Um, how about a big, fat 'Y-E-S' with whipped cream and sprinkles on top? I mean, Cordelia had gone down on Xander before—a handful of times, actually—but never without reminding him just how lucky he was to have _her_ popular mouth on _his _unpopular dick. Not to mention, every blowjob she'd ever given him had morphed into a handjob three-fourths of the way through, lest he—egads, the horror—reach his peak and come in her perfectly perfect mouth. Needless to say, the possibility of having her suck him off sans bitchy commentary was more than enough to have him shaking his head like Pavlov's dog.

"Perfect," Cordelia said, smiling that Crest commercial smile he both loved and hated. "Let's get started, then."

So, they did, their faces coming together like two magnets, their tongues dancing back and forth in each other's mouths until there was no Xander's mouth and Cordelia's mouth, only _their_ mouth. She tasted like Certs and Diet Pepsi and ChapStick. He tasted like Sour Patch Kids and baking soda. It was a weird cocktail, but weird worked for them. Soon, they were lying on their sides, teeth working furiously, hands reaching for pillows or stuffed animals or anything that wasn't soft, hot, pliable each other, the not-so-quiet moans of Raccoon Eyes and Gorilla Dick egging them on.

After fifteen minutes of hardcore tonsil hockey, Cordelia pulled back and said, "Bored yet?"

Xander released something between a scoff and a snort. "Goonies never say die."

"Yeah, well, neither do Chases."

In a flash, they were back at it, kissing and sighing and moaning and groaning, their mouths going numb from overuse. This, like every other no-big-deal thing they'd ever attempted as a couple, was quickly becoming a Mexican standoff, and neither of them was willing to back down. After what seemed like hours, the spirited cries of their TV companions morphed into a sort of white noise, and Cordelia arched her back fluidly, Xander's mouth popping off hers like a wet suction cup.

"Oh, my God, my nipples are _killing_ me," she whined, her warm breath tickling his eyelashes. "Can't you, like, play with them or something? Ooh, or you could suck on them till I have an orgasm! Pleeease, Xander?"

"Gneygh!" His accompanying spasm sent White Bear, Cordelia's best and oldest friend, flying into the bedside table. There was a loud crash.

"Hey! Be careful, you big lummox! He's, like, a hundred and fifty in stuffed animal years."

Xander rolled his eyes at that, not that Cordelia could tell from half an inch away. "By the by, Cor, I know what you're doing," he said, his mouth never leaving hers as he spoke. "You're trying to break my concentration with your boobs and your lips and... your boobs."

"Nuh uh," she said.

"Yeah huh," he shot back.

"Nuh uh!"

"Yeah huh!"

"Nuh—Oh, what's the point? Even you're not _that_ stupid. So, is it working?"

"Kinda," Xander admitted, shifting so that his, _ahem_, lower half wasn't squished so uncomfortably against the mattress.

"Well, then," Cordelia said, pulling away again, "why don't you give me a hand?"

"As in, literally?"

"As in, _duh_!"

For a nanosecond, he appeared to contemplate her offer. Then, with a predictable dose of smugness, he said, "And let you win? Sorry, sweetheart, but I'd rather ride the unicycle."

"Fine," Cordelia huffed, one hand groping awkwardly at her right breast, the other creeping beneath the elastic waistband of her miniskirt. "If you won't help me help you, then you can just sit there and watch me help me." Before Xander could say something stupid—because _that_ would be a totally new experience—her breath hitched in her throat, and she said, "OhGodohGodohGodI'msinkingXanderI'msinking!" in just about the sexiest voice he'd ever heard. "KissmekissmekissmeeeAHHHH!"

That was it. Xander lunged forward, his arms going around Cordelia's middle as his lips fell on hers. "Holy shit," he said, folding her into his body as she beat her orgasm into white silence, hands twisting in his shirt. "Cordy, hey! Cordelia, are you okay?"

When she looked up at him, it was with fluffy eyes, half-hooded, half-awed, all triumphant. "I win."

* * *

"What do you think?" Cordelia asked, examining her reflection from every possible angle.

Xander shrugged from beneath a mountain of shopping bags. "Everything looks good on you. Now, can we go?"

"Not until I've tried on the red one, the blue one, aaand the yellow one. Oh, and I have a six o'clock nail appointment I need you to take me to. Well, I don't really _need _you to; I just _want _you to."

He sighed. "Losing sucks."

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**A/N:** First off, I'd like to thank each and every one of you who reviewed and/or favorited the previous chapter. It's people like you who make writing fanfic so much fun! Again, if you enjoyed this chapter, drop me a line. Heck, even if you didn't enjoy this chapter, drop me a line. I'm always open to corrective criticism and suggestions for future chapters.

Until next time...


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